


Starting Over

by SharedUniverseArchive



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Other, Start of series, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8640592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharedUniverseArchive/pseuds/SharedUniverseArchive
Summary: The Hero comes home; a new legend begins.





	1. Once More, With Feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short, I threw around ideas with friends for years about (mostly) video game characters existing in a shared universe and all the crazy, awesome hijinx that would therefore ensue. This account was originally created to write the resulting story the way I always envisioned it. Having said that, I just can't seem to write the damn thing, but I'll work through it eventually, I swear.

** 6:00 AM Upon a Lonely Mountaintop- Link **

Even in the dark and cold of night, it's warm on top of Death Mountain. Of course, the mountain is an active volcano, so that's no surprise. I'm still a bit cold, though. And tired, even though I just woke up. Somewhat hungry, too. Of course, I've had seven years to get used to that feeling. A wanderer always feels like this, I suppose.

It's morning now. The sun hasn't risen yet, but I've internalized when exactly it rises, and exactly how early beforehand I need to wake up to watch. Of all the strange things my wandering has taught me, that's relatively normal. A thought reoccurs to me, for the first time in a while. 

_I'm more than just a hero now. More than just the schmuck who shows up to save the day at the 11th hour. I'm an adventurer, roaming the world in search of fame, fortune, and a way to pass my time._

Every so often it comes back to me, usually after I leave a country or continent behind in search of new lands to explore. Goddesses, the map-makers are going to have a field day with everything I've seen, and I doubt that's even the half of it. And now, eight years after I left home, I've returned.

It's my 18th birthday today. For normal people, a celebration of adulthood, an excuse to do things they wouldn't or couldn't have done before, to feel powerful and in control of their destiny. But I've known my destiny for a long time, and today it comes to fruition. I'm not going to have time to party until midnight, if I'm estimating the time-table correctly, and I've planned that time-table as meticulously as only a time-traveler can. After all, today's the day the world goes to shit if I can't do anything about it. I suppose that's why the line about becoming an adventurer came back. Several years ago, I left home to pass my time as an adventurer. Now, I'm done idly passing time. Today's my chance to be the hero I was always meant to be.

At noon approximately, I'll be a full-grown man by Hylian standards. At that point, The Master Sword will allow me to wield it as its rightful master. And then, for the first time in seven years, I get to see Zelda again.

I wonder how she thinks of me now. I mean, I think she'll be happy to see me again, but that might just be wishful thinking. She was happy to see me last time, but that was last time. The last 7 years were EXTREMELY different the first time around. We were together, in a way. She could visit me if she wanted to, when she had time. This time, I've... well, I've been gone 7 years. We didn't get to bond, or anything. And, if she doesn't remember me from the other timeline, she might not remember me at all.

With a sigh, I look up to the horizon. There's the sunrise. No more time for doubt, worry, frustration. It's the dawn of the 8th year. It's my 18th birthday.

It's time to change history.

I rummage in my pack for cured jerky to bite into. Tough and not especially nourishing, made from whatever meat I can hunt on the open plains and ground rock salt, when I can find it. I will always maintain that the most a wanderer's most difficult struggles are hunger and loneliness. Jerky will cure the former, but the latter... is going to have to wait a while longer. I finish one strip, then feed another into my mouth, and set to work. I disrobe and walk into the isolated spring atop the mountain, reveling in the volcanically-heated warmth of the water. I don't take out the pumice stone I carry with me to scrub myself- I don't need to clean myself thoroughly today, I'm going to be dirtying myself before long. Presumably with blood. Besides, if I really wanted to clean myself, I'd swallow some shame and bathe myself in the Great Fairy's Fountain a bit further down the mountain. 

When I get out of the pool, I towel myself off quickly with the rags cluttering the bottom of my pack. I toss them into the pool, to get waterlogged and shed their grime, and begin to dress. First, simple form-fitting white under-trousers, then my brown cloth shirt. Over that, the chain-mail shirt that's kept me alive for two years by now. I outgrew my old cloth green tunic at fourteen, and by that point there was more stitches and patches than original cloth left, anyway. So now I have a new one. Up my legs, I pull my trousers, hard-cured leather with steel cuffs sewn into the lining to protect my legs between the joints. Over the chain-mail I pull a shirt of the same design, both dyed a dark, mossy green by my own two hands. A messy process, but I've become fond of the results. The hat alone I didn't replace, because... well, it looked ridiculous.

I hang my sword and shield on my back, and I set off down the mountainside. Climbing down a mountain is always harder than climbing up, since moving toward gravity necessitates moving with care, but I still remember this side of the mountain, so I should be able to travel mostly on trails instead of risking my life scaling the mountainside. I could arrive in Castle Town sooner than I've planned if I travel entirely in a straight line, not following the main road, but I've planned to arrive at noon, so I might as well follow the plan, since I can't grab my sword before then anyway. The road takes me through Kakariko Village, though, so I'm either going to have to get stealthy or bloody to avoid word of my activities getting back to Ganondorf.

The name still chills me. I've had nightmares about him over the years- not about the threat posed by his magic, or his massive boar-man form, but the idea that I'm already too late- that I'm going to fail again. He burnt down my parents' home when I was a baby, hoping to prevent me from growing up to stop him. He allowed me to obtain the Master Sword in the old timeline, just to knock me aside and steal the tri-force anyway. In this timeline, he's managed to finagle his way into the regency, and established himself as ruler of Hyrule until Zelda comes of age in... well, I honestly don't know, but I'm pretty sure it's soon. Who's to say he isn't manipulating events again, trying to lead me into a trap like before? I can't, I haven't been here. I just have to trust that I can handle whatever he has planned.

If I were to look in a mirror, I think I would barely recognize myself. Fundamentally speaking I'm still the same boy who left Hyrule so long ago, but I'm taller, thinner and stronger, and I bear more scars. I've grown up to be a man. Last time, I was thrown into the thick of the fighting and forged in fire, but this time around I've really had a chance to hone my skills. I grew up fighting, mostly to protect others. I've studied under masters, developed techniques, formed a style all my own. Last time I survived our fight by sheer luck, determination, and a bit of help. This time it'll be different. This time, Ganondorf will not win, and that will be the end of the story.


	2. Lost in Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the hero heads home, the princess awakens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter quickly turned into a long exposition dump about Zelda's family history and how Ganondorf became involved. I'm keeping it that way for now, as it illustrates the meandering, long-winded, somewhat desperate thought process of the smart, mildly prophetic young princess depressed by the thought that for all her efforts, the only thing that can save her kingdom from ruin is a friend she hasn't seen in seven years, whom she's had had to accept might not show up at all. As the story progresses, I plan to spread all of this out among future chapters to improve the story's pacing.

**9:00 AM Inside Hyrule Castle- Zelda**

It's lonely. The plushest, most fantasied room in the whole kingdom, the bedroom of Princess Zelda herself- and it's lonely. I'm lonely. I thought I got used to that.

Sunlight streams in through a window of the clearest glass, very nearly revealing my body through a pale nightgown of the finest silk. Vanity, all of it. Petty vanity.

I appreciate it, I really do, but it's meaningless- the pampering of a figurehead. A pampered, paper monarch. I am meaningless. All the power of the throne, all the prestigious influence of Hyrule's Monarchy is gone. Ganondorf holds it now, and it seems he will forevermore.

I should explain. No, better yet- I should tell my story.

When I was very young, I realized I had no mother. Well, no, what I realized was that other children had "mommies" and I didn't, so I should ask why. The question brought a tear to my father's eye, though he braved his emotions to tell me all about her. Miria Boronel Nohansen, _Hyrule's frail flower_ , a girl born of nobility and nobility, coddled zealously all her life for fear of the royals' disease. She was a rare sight about the kingdom, and it was perhaps that factor, the exoticness of a thing so carefully hidden and protected, that made her the apple of the kingdom's eye. She was a dreamer, too, always lost in her own mind. I can't blame her- In the mundane world of a coddled young girl, a princess cannot help but imagine a more interesting one.

It was no hard decision to claim she was unfit for the throne, that a woman sheltered all her life, caught up in her own mind and perhaps damned to become lost there, could not be trusted to rule the kingdom practically. When the time came for mother to take the throne, she was to be married to the second in line to the throne, a damp twig of a boy whom I honestly doubt was any higher-minded than she, but she spoke out against it. "I've been dreaming about this, lately. I don't think it's going to go quite the way you think. I have no plans to marry my cousin, that's for certain."

Mother was a wise young woman even then. The time she spent in her own head, more often than not, was spent pondering the future- and whether by chance, by intellect, or by some divine gift, mother would often predict the outcomes of simple things. Where a vase should be moved to keep from knocking over, whether a petty criminal would be found guilty, or even how a stable-boy should play his final hand of cards. Her word was not law, but respected by those privy to it, and this was the most significant thing she'd ever offered her insight on, so the minds of the kingdom analyzed it like never before. Was it a statement? A threat? A mere suggestion? A show of bravado? The intellectual debate was shattered by the next day's news: The king-ascendant had been challenged to a duel, by a young stable-boy. The tender of the horse young princess Miria could never ride, lest she fall and bleed to death from the merest scrape, had challenged the young, yet pompous duke to a duel for the princess's hand, and in a rather unfortunate rage, the poor fool accepted.

This stable-boy, a strong young buck by name of Ordon Allonel, had been a longtime and steadfast friend of the young and sheltered princess, as his first and foremost duty was to care for the "foul-tempered" animal bred for Miria, though she might never ride it. Of course, the more attention the horse required, the less time he would be forced to spend attending to other things. In reality, the horse named Maxima was almost as kind and amicable a companion to the princess and her stable-boy as they were to each other. The two spent all the time they could in each other's company, for there were no other children in the princess's reach, and the young man felt an attraction to her long before that troublesome age where young people realize their feelings are rather confusing. In fact, he would never forget her first words to him, when she was only eight years old and he only seven- "You know, I think you're going to marry me someday."

And marry her, he would. With the strength of a man who spent his days mucking stalls, grooming horses, and keeping livestock in order, and the determination of a man with a higher purpose than power, Ordon Allonel knocked the duke aside time and again, until at last the spoiled young man screeched "Fine! Enough! Have her!" and demanded someone help him up. And so, Ordon won princess Miria's hand in marriage, and in a ceremony hard fought for and well earned by both princess and her prince alike, the two were crowned King and Queen of Hyrule. King Ordon was an intensely practical ruler, who understood money and manpower, and the plights of the common man, while Queen Miria had a mind for the future, incredibly talented in planning. Together, they increased the expansion of the great kingdom threefold, and Hyrule saw a new golden age under the King's strong, steady hand and the Queen's cautious, caring eye.

Not even good things last forever, however. Borders clashed at the edge of the western desert- the Gerudo tribe, longtime rulers of the hot, barren wastes, refused to allow the incorporation of their few large oasis settlements into the Hyrulean domain. The communities cropping up at Hyrule's edge suffered skirmishes and raids from "rogue" tribeswomen, and political tensions arose from allegations that the Gerudo had long been menaced by slavers from the east- from Hyrule. A breaking point was found when a Gerudo warrior-woman was raped and killed in a small hamlet on the Hyrule side of the border. In a response the royals simply could not tolerate, the hamlet was razed to the ground, its people slaughtered. The Gerudo war began, and Hyrule's golden age gave way to an age of bloodshed. Hyrule's superior manpower forced the Gerudo onto an endless defensive, but the Gerudo were the mistresses of the desert, and it seemed there they were unbeatable.

From Hyrule, there arose a general, who finally made progress in the desert wastes. Surviving and studying the Gerudo's tactics, devising ways to copy and counter them, he began to lead a slow, but steady push into Gerudo territory. After many months of fighting and dying in the wastes, it took the royal army only a few more under this general's command to reach the Gerudo capital, and the fortress that lay beyond. In the streets, they finally found the Gerudo men they had long been wondering about. They were considered lower-class, laborers and breeding stock, for one not blessed with the honor of bearing child could not possibly bear will and ferocity enough to be a warrior. The Hyruleans fought their way through the town guard, avoiding killing wherever possible at their general's explicit and harshly enforced orders, and eventually made their way to the Gerudo Fortress, where they found one last surprise awaiting them: An honor guard. The best responses the soldiers and knights were given amounted to "He's waiting. Try anything and we kill you. Get moving."

As The General reached the fortress at the head of his army, and dismounted his horse to approach the door, that door flew open before him. Instinctively, the General grabbed the object thrown at him out of the air, only to realize it was a human head. The head of a woman, aged but beautiful, marked by her fiery orange hair as a child of the Gerudo rulers, blood still dripping from the clean cut through her neck. The soldiers of Hyrule stood with mouths agape, and the Gerudo honor guard bowed on bent knee, as the General looked up from the severed head to the figure in the doorway. There stood a Gerudo man, taller and more muscular than any the soldiers had seen in town, clothed in a mix of cloth rags and hide armor, wielding a bloody longsword in one hand. With a composed tone, but a fiery look in his eyes, the man before them spoke. "Queen Soltana, the Gerudo regent so unflinchingly resistent to your people's advances, is dead. In her ferocity and hubris, she would have you eradicate us before ever bowing to you. That had to change. I, as the new ruler of the Gerudo, am ready to make treaty with your king, to end this senseless war." Running a hand back through short-cropped hair the same vibrant orange as the head he had thrown to the General, the man tossed his blade aside into the nearby hands of a waiting aide, and spoke again.

"You may refer to me as King Ganondorf."


	3. A Dark and Stormy Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the princess drifts off into the depths of thought, far darker thoughts consume a far darker mind.

**12:00 PM at the Temple of Time- Ganondorf**

At long last, I'm so gods-damned close I can feel it.

I've waited so long for this, and it's almost here.

Now, if only I could open this  _Gods-damned door._

"Remind me again why this door is still closed?", I growl, my voice dripping with vitriol.

The Wizzrobe before me turns. Of all the demonic creatures at my disposal, I have found these to be the most intelligent I can summon and dismiss on a whim. That is not to say their intelligence is worthy of compliment- they are incessantly forgetful. Here in the Temple of Time where, even sealed off from the public, some fool could interrupt me at any moment, ease-of-access is my main priority.

The Wizzrobe turns with an exasperated sigh. It has explained this to me before, and it seems to think it will explain it again. "We don't have the Kokiri Emerald, my lord. The Goron Ruby and Zora Sapphire were easily enough recovered years ago, but the Emerald has eluded capture. We need all three to unlock the door between us and the Master Sword, sir, before we can even think of playing the Song of Time to open it. Our current theory back home is that Link must have taken it with him when he-" The Wizzrobe does not notice my approach. It feels my hand constrict its miasmal windpipe, however. "Do you think me foolish, or forgetful? I know all this, _I_ am the one who told it to _you_. The Hero left, and took the third key with him. What you are here for, you little mite, is to find a way to break the lock, or the door. I cannot obtain the Kokiri Emerald, the Hero will have taken it far away. I cannot replicate its enchantment, for it is complex light magic unavailable to me. I cannot even teleport inside, for the conduit to the Sacred Realm nullifies all other spells of transportation within the Sword's Chamber. Therefore, I have elected to summon Wizzrobe after Wizzrobe in hopes of some archaic, bizarre, fool's-logic insight that might lead to the destruction of that gods-damned door.  _I see now that I was indeed mistaken._ "

I close my fist. The petty creature cannot persist with a gap between its head and body, and it evaporates. The rage flowing through me requires further release, however. I stalk over to that gods-damned door, and with a huffing growl of frustration, I smash my fist against it. Damn, it feels good to hurt things, especially at my position in the Hyrule Court, a position filled with stressors that, honestly to myself, are probably as stressed by me as I am by them. People require a different hand to guide them than the mindless beasts of the Cursed Realm, a hand that I have not quite mastered.

As I think of my hand, I gaze to it, where the glow of the Tri-Force is fading. One of the few things that can bring a smile to me is the glow of that blessed triangle, the eternal reminder that I can never truly fail- even when the Princess and her Hero win a battle, I will win a fight here and there. Small victories, but cumulative. And while I win my small victories, my plans progress and my forces amass. And then, _someday-_

"Lord Regent...?"

I awaken from my reverie. Gods damned, I never have time to think anymore.

"What is it, Rauru?" I'm rolling my eyes internally, but I mask my vitriol. After all, Rauru is the Sage of Light, guardian of this temple, key advisor to Hyrule's royalty, and all things considered, one of the three largest pains in my ass over the last seven years.

"Oh, I see you've come back to reality. Should you not be at the castle, making preparations for tonight?"

Rauru knows the score, you see. Like his fellow pains in my ass, Impa and the Princess, he knows who I am, what I want, why I want it, and what it takes to stop me. And the only reason they haven't told the kingdom is so they can hold it over my head.

"The preparations have been made for weeks, Rauru. Some of them, for years. The moment approaching has been set up as carefully as most things I do, and in just as much length and detail. You, of all people, know that very well."

Rauru masked it well, but I could tell he was snickering. "Yes, well, the princess's dress is exquisite, and while I haven't seen your robes, I've heard they're... stunning."

I allow myself to groan. I can only imagine what's been done with my ceremonial robes. They could've swapped them for a replica of the Hero's clothes, dyed them some garish shade of orange or pink, or perhaps removed the lower half. Now _that_ would be stunning. " Your pranks are so very amusing, as usual. Of course, you know that I can just produce new clothes to my liking in a puff of purple fire, and you know that I was going to do so anyway. You're just pettily amusing yourself, perhaps because you've finally accepted that Link isn't coming back to save you, everything looks bleak where you're standing, and tonight's ceremony will cement my victory and reign over Hyrule."

Rauru grimaces, but there is still light and fire in his eyes. I can tell my words have left their mark, but not as I expected. Interesting.

I test the waters. "Or perhaps it's not you who has given up?"

Rauru rears back in outrage. I can tell he's ready to start shouting obscenities, but he catches himself, and smiles. I know the man by now, he can't maintain his composure that well- he's omitted something thus far. There's one more thing he hasn't told me. Rauru came into this conversation with a trump card, he's about to play it, and I'm almost certain what it is. "Oh, yes- that reminds me. I came here bearing news, originally. There's been some minor vandalism of this very temple. Some punk threw a stone and broke one of the windows. We haven't been able to find them, but-"

Now comes the tricky part. I can't overplay this, or he'll realize I'm not actually angry. Then again, as forceful and exaggerated as I am, overplaying would be a very difficult task. " **Get. Out.** "

Now the man can't help but snicker to himself. "As you wish, _Lord Regent_ ," and then he's gone. I can finally allow myself to smile. Alone again, I laugh too- the deep, snarling laugh that tends to frighten people who aren't used to my expressions. I look back once again to my clenched right fist, purple fire flowing over it while the Tri-force of Power shines through the back of my gauntlet. I look closer, at the wall it has rested against through that whole conversation, and see exactly what I expect- the tiny, yet mighty runes of protection carved across the entire two-meter-wide-two-meter-high wall are marred by an intricate spiderweb of cracks. I push off from the wall, take a fighting stance a short distance away, and punch once more. I can almost hear the rumble through the building's structure as the door magically swallows the force of impact, but sure enough, there it is- another webwork of fractures. Three more well-placed punches, in quick succession, extend this web across the entire door. Can they hear this outside? Can they _feel_ it outside? I sure hope they can. I step back, turn, and walk away, around the altar of the three gems, toward the door.

At the door, I turn. I run. I approach the door at a dead sprint, manipulating cursed energies with my left hand as I draw back my right. As I leap over the altar of the gems, my right arm is covered by a miasmal apparition- the image of the massive, powerful, clawed arm of the beast within me, with which I can exert my true strength. I punch forward at just the right moment- and the whole building shakes, with a sound like thunder, as the wall I fly through is reduced to a cloud of stone splinters. I land on a raised dais, in a room where the stone walls shine like polished marble, with the floor painted in a room-spanning pattern of the tri-force. Before me is a slot in the center of the dais. The Shrine of the Master Sword. An _empty_ slot.

With my miasmal arm, I claw at the air beside me, scarring a portal through the cursed realm to a place far away into the very fabric of the universe. As the miasma dissipates, I turn and speak through the portal to the shadowy figure beyond. "We're going with plan B, exactly as expected. You'll hear how things go by dawn, but you know the plan. Be ready to move."

My general, in my fortress far away, bows his head. " _It will be done, Lord Ganondorf._ "


	4. A History Lesson, Perhaps?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Dark Lord's plan is finally set in motion, the hero hides out in Kakariko Village with an old acquaintance.

**3:00 PM In Kakariko Village- Link**

Well, that part's over with, I guess.


End file.
